


saying that I want more, this is what I live for

by Merideath



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, Dom Steve Rogers, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ink on Darcy’s skin draws his eyes again, and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	saying that I want more, this is what I live for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [Aenaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/gifts).



> Y'all can blame miin for prompting this and aenaria for enabling my incredibly slow muse Sybil. My head hasn't been in a great place lately, depression and anxiety have been beating me down and taking my focus away. For such a short smutlet it took a very long time to write. But I got it done and dizzyredhead is a saint for beta'ing the mess of autocorrect blunders, switching tenses, and general lack of punctuation that this story was filled with. 
> 
> There is nothing you need to know to jump into this, it does what it says on the tin, PWP, baby. 
> 
> Title from Halsey's 'Hold Me Down', which I listened to repeatedly while writing this.

Her hands are tied, blue silk cord wrapped around her wrists and woven through the metal scrollwork of the headboard. Darcy lies on her stomach, hands curling around the cold metal of the frame, but the cold iron does nothing to cool the heat in her body, the warmth radiating from her skin, the wet ache between her thighs. Darcy presses her thighs together, grateful her ankles are free of the cord that binds her wrists.

“I told you not to move,” Steve says. His voice is low, gravelly, with all the authority of the Captain bleeding through. His left hand cups the back of her thigh, pushing her legs apart, the tip of his thumb brushing over her cunt in a tease that sends a rush of wet between her parted thighs. Darcy’s teeth sink into the plump flesh of her bottom lip to cage the words on her tongue. 

Steve squeezes her thigh, and slides his hand up to cover her ass. He hums a little, and Darcy’s breath stutters in her lungs as the pen held in his right hand dips down to touch her flesh. She can’t see what he’s drawing on her back, only feel the cold tip of the marker swirling over her skin. 

“Good girl,” he says, pulling back to cap the now dry pen,tossing it towards the waste paper bin beside his slanted art desk. The pen flies through the air in a graceful arc, hitting the wall and dropping down into the bin with a muted thunk. Steve slides his hand up his forearm, pushing up the rolled-up sleeve of his button-down shirt. He knows how much Darcy loved his forearms and he was vain enough to flex the muscles for her view. 

Darcy moans, turning her head away, burying her face into the downy softness of his feather pillow. Steve surveys his canvas, Darcy’s bound hands, pale arms stretched above her head, loose curls spilling over the pillows, the curves and lines of her body, and the lines of ink he’s sketched into her skin. The drawing takes up the whole of Darcy’s back, from her shoulders down to the rounded swell of her ass. A night darkened sky alight with clusters of constellations, surrounded by swirling clouds, a jagged mountain range, and clusters of roses and star-shaped campanula flowers. 

“I wanna see it.”

“Later. Be still, ink’s not dry yet,” he says, curling a hand over her hip. His other palm presses flat against the sheet, and he leans down to blow a puff of warm air over Darcy’s skin. Steve drags his hand down from her hip, blunt nails scraping over pale flesh. He dips his fingers between her legs, tracing over the wet lips of her cunt.

Darcy squirms beneath him, rolling her hips back to meet his hand, her toes curling in the sheets. “Oh, God, you asshole,” she hisses into the pillow. “Steve.”

“Quiet. Window’s open, you don’t want everyone to hear you screamin’ my name, sweetheart,” he says, tapping his fingers over her clit. The window of his bedroom is open, the sound of music and voices drifting up from the patio of the Stark Mansion. 

What they were doing wasn’t a secret. Darcy's been his girl for six months. A year and a half by Darcy’s count, since he’d drawn flowers over the penis Barton scribbled on her leg cast. A lab accident that Steve was a little ashamed to be grateful for. That had before his world tilted on it’s side in DC, and the little selfish part of him that wanted a normal life got thrown out the window. 

He still wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve a woman like Darcy, all fire and sass that invaded his dream until his blood ran hot and fast below the belt. She had sweetness that lingered in the smile that traced across his lips and the warm contentment that spread out from his belly. 

Steve slides his fingers into Darcy’s center, breathes in the salt-slick heat of her cunt as he fucks her with his fingers. A moan spills from her lips, and his cock twitches in his slacks. “So hot and wet for me, sweetheart.”

The curses that tumble from Darcy’s mouth are barely louder than a whisper. Darcy writhes, the ink on her back rippling with the movements of her body. “Fuck, fucking, fuck.” Her eyes flash blue fire in the swirling tangle of long dark hair trailing over her pink-flushed face.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are with my drawing all over your back? How much I want to bury my cock in you and watch your skin dance as I fuck you?” he says, voice dropping an octave. “The marks will be on your skin for days. Beneath that pretty little dress you’ll be wearing tonight.”

“Oh, God,” she says, pressing her forehead into the pillows, Fingers with pink painted nails gripping tighter to the headboard. She flutters around his knuckles, arching into the cool cotton sheets. 

He pulls his fingers away, licks them clean, growling at the taste of her cunt on his lips. “Up on your knees for me, pretty girl.” He sits back on his heels, watching Darcy curl her legs in underneath her belly, thighs pressed tight together. 

He rubs the heel of his hand over the length of his cock through his slacks and catches his bottom lip between his teeth. He swipes up his phone, dragging his thumb across the screen to open the camera. Hums to himself as he angles the phone and snaps a few pictures of Darcy’s back. Close enough that no one could see the her bound wrists. 

Steve tosses the phone aside, drags the suspenders from his shoulders to hang loose at his hips and plucks at the buttons of his linen shirt. He peels off the shirt, tossing it behind him, and begins working at the button and zipper of his pants. 

The teeth of the zipper part, and Steve pushes his boxer briefs down far enough for his cock to spring free into his waiting hand. “Spread your legs for me, Darcy girl.” 

He squeezes himself, swirling the pad of his thumb over the head, spreading drops of precome down over the foreskin. Steve’s eyes flutter shut, lips parting as he roughly strokes his cock. 

“God, Steve,” Darcy says, voice dripping with want as she cranes her neck to watch him over her shoulder, clouds and constellations dancing over her flesh. “Please.”

One little word that unfurls something in Steve’s brain, primal and fierce. He inches forward until his knuckles brush the warm skin of Darcy’s ass, and his knees dig into the sheets on either side of hers. 

“So hot and ready for me,” Steve marvels, rubbing the head of his cock over Darcy’s slick folds. He teases against her clit, pride burning in his belly at the desperate way she rocks back into him. Darcy’s head drops down between her shoulders, hair a dark pool over the bedding, knuckles white as her grip tightens on the headboard. 

Steve drags a hand down her spine over the lines of ink and the small letters of his name. He grips her hip tight, mean enough to leave marks. Starburst bruises that will bloom across the pale of her skin. A possessive echo of the constellations drawn on flesh, a heavenly map of suns that burned out long ago. 

“Gonna fuck you now, Darcy girl,” he says, releasing his cock with one last stroke, hand brushing the soft skin of Darcy’s thigh. He sinks in deep, his fabric-covered hips flush against the sweet curve of Darcy’s ass. Steve holds himself still, a muscle in his thigh twitching. “We good?”

“So good.” She pushes back against him, lips spilling curses onto in the expensive cotton sheets. He pulls back until only the head of his dick is enveloped by her wet heat, and pushes back slowly, body quivering with want. 

It’s almost shameful the way he wants her. Shameful and selfish the way he knows he’ll want to take her again later, bury his face between her thighs and make her scream his name for the world to hear. His heart beats the tattoo of want with each snap of his hips, the slide of his cock glistening as he watches himself plunge into the pink heat of Darcy cunt. 

The ink on Darcy’s skin draws his eyes again, and again. He arches over her, hands sliding over roses and stars. Her skin warms beneath the touch of his hands, as he brackets her ribs. Steve reaches around to fill his hands with her breasts, catching her nipples between his fingers. Darcy arches into his grasp, her pussy gripping hard around his cock. 

“Close,” Darcy gasps. “Please.”

He trails his hand down over the soft curve of her belly to swirl over her clit. He keeps his touch light. Slow circles that drive her up notch by notch. The tips of his fingers brush his cock with each roll of his hips. Electricity burns through his body, like a lightning-struck tree. Sweat collects at temple and spine, a growl reverberating through his chest as Darcy’s cunt flutters around him. 

“Right there...god…yes, Steve,” she says, drawing out the syllables in his name as she comes, back arching sharply. He keeps one hand between her thighs, fingers to her clit, the other on her back, palm flat over the scrawled lines of ink. 

Steve’s eyes fix on a constellation scrawled near Darcy’s right shoulder as he drives into her seeking his own pleasure. Darcy whimpers and squirms, over-sensitive to his touch. He slips his hand away and grips her hips tight as he loses the battle to keep any sort of rhythm. He comes hard, vision whiting out but for the ghost of stars behind closed lids a groan caught between teeth and tongue. 

He surges up, tugging the knots free from the silken cord around Darcy’s wrists. They tangle together, hearts beating hard, sweat cooling on overheated skin.


End file.
